Little I hear and nothing I see,
Wrapped in that veil by fairies spun ; The solid earth is vanish'd for me, And the shining hours speed noiselessly, A woof of shadow and sun.
Suddenly out of the shifting veil
A magical bark, by the sunbeams lit,
Flits like a dream
With a golden prow and a gossamer sail,
And the waves make room for it.
A fair, swift bark from some radiant realm,—
Its diamond cordage cuts the sky
In glittering lines; all silently
A seeming spirit holds the helm,
And steers. Will he pass me by ?
Ah, not for me is the vessel here;
Noiseless and swift as a sea-bird's flight
She swerves and vanishes from the sight;
No flap of sail, no parting cheer,-
She has passed into the light.
Sitting some day in a deeper mist,
Silent, alone, some other day,
An unknown bark, from an unknown bay,
By unknown waters lapp'd and kiss'd,
Shall near me through the spray.
No flap of sail, no scraping of keel;
Shadowy, dim, with a banner dark,
It will hover, will pause, and I shall feel
A hand which grasps me, and shivering steal
To the cold strand, and embark,—
Embark for that far, mysterious realm
Where the fathomless, trackless waters flow
Shall I feel a Presence dim, and know
Thy dear hand, Lord, upon the helm,
Nor be afraid to go?
And through black waves and stormy blast
And out of the fog-wreaths, dense and dun,
Guided by thee, shall the vessel run,
Gain the fair haven, night being past,
And anchor in the sun?
SARAH WOOLSEY (SUSAN COOLIDGE).
THE MENDICANTS
WE are as mendicants who wait
Along the roadside in the sun.
Tatters of yesterday and shreds
Of morrow clothe us every one.
And some are dotards who believe
And glory in the days of old;
While some are dreamers, harping still
Upon an unknown age of gold.
Hopeless or witless! Not one heeds,
Ás lavish Time comes down the way
And tosses in the suppliant hat
One great new-minted gold To-day.
Ungrateful heart and grudging thanks,
His beggar's wisdom only sees
Housing and bread and beer enough;
He knows no other things than these.
O foolish ones, put by your care!
Where wants are many, joys are few;
And at the wilding springs of peace,
God keeps an open house for you.
But that some Fortunatus' gift
Is lying there within his hand.
More costly than a pot of pearls,
His dullness does not understand.
And so his creature heart is filled;
His shrunken self goes starved away.
Let him wear brand-new garments still,
Who has a threadbare soul, I say.
But there be others, happier few,
The vagabondish sons of God,
Who know the by-ways and the flowers,
And care not how the world may plod.
They idle down the traffic lands,
And loiter through the woods with Spring;
To them the glory of the earth
Is but to hear a bluebird sing.
They too receive each one his Day;
But their wise heart knows many things
Beyond the sating of desire,
Above the dignity of kings.
One I remember kept his coin,
And laughing flipp'd it in the air;
But when two strolling pipe-players
Came by, he toss'd it to the pair.
Spendthrift of joy, his childish heart
Danced to their wild outlandish bars;
Then supperless he laid him down
That night, and slept beneath the stars.
UPON THE BEACH
My life is like a stroll upon the beach,
As near the ocean's edge as I can go;
My tardy steps the waves sometimes o'erreach,
Sometimes I stay to let them overflow.
My sole employment 't is, and scrupulous care,
To set my gains beyond the reach of tides
Each smoother pebble, and each shell more rare,
Which ocean kindly to my hand confides.
I have but few companions on the shore,-
They scorn the strand who sail upon the sea;
Yet oft I think the ocean they 've sailed o'er
Is deeper known upon the strand to me.
The middle sea contains no crimson dulse,
Its deeper waves cast up no pearls to view ;
Along the shore my hand is on its pulse,
And I converse with many a shipwreck'd crew.
HENRY DAVID THOREAU
To loiter on yon airy road
Above the apple trees.
I freight them with my untold dreams,
Each bears my own pick'd crew;
And nobler cargoes wait for them
Than ever India knew
My ships that sail into the East
Across that outlet blue.
Sometimes they seem like living shapes
The people of the sky
Guests in white raiment coming down
From Heaven, which is close by.
I call them by familiar names,
As one by one draws nigh,
So white, so light, so spirit-like,
From violet mists they bloom!
The aching wastes of the unknown
Are half reclaim'd from gloom,
Since on life's hospitable sea
All souls find sailing room.
The sails, like flakes of roseate pearl,
Float in upon the mist;
The waves are broken precious stones
Sapphire and amethyst,
Wash'd from celestial basement walls
By suns unsetting kiss'd.
Out through the utmost gates of space,
Past where the gay stars drift,
To the widening Infinite, my soul
Glides on a vessel swift;
Yet loses not her anchorage
In yonder azure rift.
Here sit I, as a little child ;
The threshold of God's door
Is that clear band of chrysoprase;
Now the vast temple floor,
The blinding glory of the dome
I bow my head before;
The universe, O God, is home,
In height or depth to me;
Yet here upon thy footstool green
Content am I to be;
Glad, when is open'd to my need
Some sea-like glimpse of Thee.
THE ROSE OF STARS*
WHEN Love, our great Immortal,
Put on mortality,
And down from Eden's portal
Brought this sweet life to be,
At the sublime archangel
He laugh'd with veiled eyes,
For he bore within his bosom
The seed of Paradise.
He hid it in his bosom,
And there such warmth it found,
It brake in bud and blossom,
And the rose fell on the ground;
As the green light on the prairie,
As the red light on the sea,
Through fragrant belts of summer
Came this sweet life to be.
And the grave archangel seeing
Spread his mighty wings for flight,
But the glow hung round him fleeing
Like the rose of an Arctic night;
And sadly moving heavenward
By Venus and by Mars,
He heard the joyful planets
Hail Earth, the Rose of Stars.
WHILE sauntering through the crowded street,
Some half-remember'd face I meet,
Albeit upon no mortal shore
That face, methinks, has smiled before.
Lost in a gay and festal throng,
I tremble at some tender song -
Set to an air whose golden bars
I must have heard in other stars.
In sacred aisles I pause to share
The blessing of a priestly prayer,-
When the whole scene which greets mine eyes
In some strange mode I recognize
As one whose every mystic part
I feel prefigured in my heart.
Wild Eden," copyright, 1899, by The Macmillan Co.
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